Ask Me To Dance
by jiiMINDS
Summary: Emily and Hotch have a conversation at a bar. probably more subext than anything. one-shot. HP. R&R!


**A/N Stop it! Stop giving me that Hotchner death-glare! Be grateful I've uploaded this at least!**

**This scene has been driving me crazy lately. It HAD to be written, even though I feel as if I'm suffering a severe case of writer's block, so it may not be top notch.**

**So, just a small scene about them having a conversation at a bar. Hints to HP**.

* * *

"Hey," Emily sat next to a dismal Hotch at the bar. "I'll have a beer, thanks." She called to the bartender, serving her immediately. He shot her a flirty grin but she ignored it. Instead she looked at the nearly-empty scotch in Hotch's hand.

"Shouldn't you be back at the table?"

"No, it's pretty lonely over there." She sipped her bear, "Derek and Garcia are getting their groove on, much to the dismay of the many females in here, and Reid is talking about some board game to Mr. Johnny Cash over there."

Hotch let out an amused huff, turning his head to look at the eccentric character deep in conversation with Reid, residing at the back of the bar in a leather jacket.

"Rossi?"

Emily pointed the older profiler out with an irk of her head.

Hotch huffed again. "Of course."

Rossi lead a conversation, no doubt about himself, with a blonde woman old enough to be his daughter. She leaned on her hand and looked at him with a sort of fondness in her eyes, or maybe that was the generous amount of alcohol she had consumed.

"Think he'll get lucky?" she smiled.

"He always does." Hotch leaned his head down lower to study the ripples in his glass. 

The silence was uncomfortable. Hotch looked up from his drink and around the room. Sure enough, about five guys were looking at them. Emily was, of course, sincerely oblivious to this. He wondered how many years it had taken her to get used to it.

"So what was all that about before?"

"Hm?"

"Come on, you were approached by at least three men tonight. And that was when I was at the table, _and_ 10 minutes within our arrival time. But you turned them all down. Why?" Hotch spoke in an unusually professional voice for what he was asking.

Emily was surprised; she wasn't expecting him to be so curious about her personal life. But she smiled in an effort to lighten the mood.

"They asked me to dance."

"I know that, I was there." He said, frustration evident in his voice this time.

She took a sip of her beer, contemplating her next words. She sighed, "Hotch, In all the time that you've known me have you ever seen me dance?"

"No, but I haven't exactly been out with the team every time it's been offered."

"Well if you had, you would have noticed by now." Hotch furrowed his eyebrows and looked down again, not following where she was going. "I don't dance Hotch. I can't."

Hotch rolled his eyes and took another swig of scotch. "Everyone can dance."

Emily laughed, "You haven't _seen_ everyone dance. Being an Ambassador's daughter; you don't exactly learn how to 'get it down' in a bar. If the music was right, I'd be leading the room in a Vietnamese waltz." Hotch hid a smile, but he found it incredibly hard to believe that Emily Prentiss didn't know how to dance. "Of course if you tell anyone this, and by anyone I specifically mean Morgan, I will have to kill you."

Hotch turned to his left and looked at her for the first time. He noticed how her entire body was turned his way; her left elbow leaned on the bar, the other hand holding her stool. And she smiled, but only slightly. Perhaps he didn't hold his drink as well as he thought he did.

"Your secret's safe with me." He turned back, but remained looking at her.

"Good. Now, I may have my excuse. But what's yours?" Hotch raised his eyebrows.

"What?"

"Why aren't you out on the dance floor?"

"I… I don't do that anymore."

Emily sighed, her head tipped to the side. He still blamed himself. How long had it been now? Almost a year and a half, surely. He obviously felt guilty to have fun when Haley wasn't alive. But Emily made the right move when she decided he wouldn't want to talk about it.

"That's a shame," she stood up next to her superior, "I guess you'll never see me make a fool of myself then."

Hotch felt her pat his shoulder and abruptly turned his head to say something, but she was already swaying her hips over to the table where Garcia and Morgan had returned.

* * *

**A/N Not much but hope you enjoyed it!**

**J  
**


End file.
